


Drive

by White_Marker



Category: Shadowhunters (TV)
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Blood Twizzler - new flavour!, Depression, Dumort, Falling In Love, Habibi the hotel cat, M/M, OC, Slow Burn, sorry my dudes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-04-20
Updated: 2017-06-14
Packaged: 2018-10-21 08:10:59
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 8,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10681248
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/White_Marker/pseuds/White_Marker
Summary: Day 23347Have been assigned insignificant task by C, who remains ziplipped about her most recent plans and hopes to keep me out of the loop. Task regards reporting the habits of one Simon Lewis and alert C to any suspicious behaviour on his part. At first sight must admit he seems aggravating and wholly unsubstantial.





	1. The Puritan and the Dullard

 

 

_—_

 

_Day 23347_

_Have been assigned insignificant task by C, who remains ziplipped about her most recent plans and hopes to keep me out of the loop. Task regards reporting the habits of one Simon Lewis and alert C to any suspicious behaviour on his part. At first sight must admit he seems aggravating and wholly unsubstantial._  

 

— 

 

Tendrils of smoke curled up into the air from the manholes of the wet pavement. Below the concrete, a hundred and five mile long web of steam pipes heated the buildings of the city. The rain had stopped pouring a while ago and had eased into a light drizzle, but somehow still managed to drench every pedestrian and cyclist outside.

The air stank of rain mixed with the filth on the pavements after a long week of unusual scorching heat this late in the year. The scent had grown dull but lingered in the air.

A woman without an umbrella or raincoat attempted to cover her face from the rain but the water ran down her fingers. Her black skin was lit up by the lanterns swaying in the wind and neon red lights of a cheap Chinese restaurant Shan Dong celebrating its happy hour from eleven to one a.m. A free beer with every portion of dumplings.

The entire street was illuminated with various neon signs reflected in the puddles of water and the dim lights of bars and restaurants that were still open.

Glancing quickly at his watch, Raphael took note of the time and sighed as he realized he still had another three to four hours of keeping watch over his task as Camille Belcourt, his boss, had instructed him to do a few weeks back.

It was a job that basically equalled babysitting a rather bland human being who did nothing much aside from wasting his evenings away in a dingy apartment. Sometimes he ventured outside and frequented obnoxious indie concerts. Sometimes he decided to wander over to Chinatown and stuff himself full of fried foods. Hence Raphael’s presence, seated on a small bench opposite of the restaurant, where he had a full view of his subject sitting on a stool at the bar, face practically drowning in a bowl of fried dough.

Raphael, unlike most, had an umbrella that shaded him from the rain and from view of the human, accountant student Simon Lewis. And he was bored.

As long as he kept an ear out for the regular heartbeat he had acquainted himself with over the past few weeks, he could allow his mind to wander. Usually his mind wandered to Camille and his barely concealed disdain for her.

Whatever was happening with the Shadowhunters, Raphael wasn’t privy to the information Camille had on the situation. Despite his official position as second-in-command, he was mostly kept out of the loop these days. Instead, Raphael was sent out like some errand boy on trivial matters such as _babysitting_ a human.

A human, for heaven’s sake.

Inside the restaurant, Lewis spoke animatedly with the owner of the place, an old lady with a tight bun and deep wrinkled lines all over her face. He insulted her by saying her English was surprisingly good.

‘Lived here all my life, _boy._ ’

She shook her head and refilled his beer, not checking for ID. Lewis jabbered out an apology while adjusting his glasses and crammed a large, oily dumpling into his mouth.

Raphael, meanwhile, with a steady heartbeat as background noise, was still thinking about Camille. Trust an immortal creature to hold a grudge.

At twelve thirty Lewis was shooed out of the restaurant with an insistent little shove and a hasty smile, along with a, ‘Pleasure doing business with you’ from a young woman who bobbed her head and curtly turned around as soon as the door was closed.

Lewis grumbled and tugged his collar closer. ‘It’s not even closing time!’ He remained in front of the _CLOSED_ sign and debated whether it was worth getting into an argument over. It was not.

He walked home. He pulled up his hood and hurried down the street. The rain hadn’t let up yet. It grew heavier and fat drops dripped down his nose by the time he pushed against the heavy metal door of his apartment building. It wouldn’t budge. Lewis cursed and shoved against the door with his full weight. It fell open and he smacked into the dirty carpet.

Raphael observed all this from across the street where he stood hidden behind the light of a lantern. His patience was growing thin and he was hungry.

On the sixth floor, Lewis stumbled inside and dialled a number that went straight to voicemail. ‘Hey. I, uh, waited for you at Shan’s but … I guess you forgot? I didn’t have my phone with me and there are no messages, so I hope you’re all right. Let me know.’

From the shadows below, Raphael heard a loud _click_ that definitely was not a phone and slinked further into the dark. Lewis stepped out onto the balcony.

From this distance, Raphael couldn’t see what Lewis was looking at, but just to be safe, he didn’t move a muscle. Lewis poured a bit of water into a potted mint plant. The smell wafted all the way down and through the stink of a thousand city smells. Fresh and sharp.

Lewis went to bed without brushing his teeth.

A _human_ , for heaven’s sakes.

And half a night wasted.

 

—

 

Back at Dumort, most of the clan was out. Past the debris of the guise of an abandoned building, the halls and rooms of Dumort were as lush as the hotel had once been. Behind the partition dividing the hotel in two, signalled by a rusty and illegible _KEEP OUT_ , the luxury was palpable to the point of being exhibitionistic. In the long hall hung crystal chandeliers, Persian rugs were rolled out along the floor and expensive sculptures posed at regular intervals, torsos, busts, horses, and a few swords from China.

Raphael entered the first door on the left.

Camille, in a manner of speaking, sat on her throne in her best form: draining an innocent mundane while reclining on a glitzy golden couch, like a piggish Roman gobbling up excess. She possessed a passion and hunger for ‘life’ he’d never experienced, and she excelled at reproducing any version of a hit available. Whether it be alcohol, blood, drugs, violence, bdsm, joyrides, high stake poker games, Russian roulette, she’d tried it all and was always eager for more. Her drive was insatiable, and couldn’t be more different from Raphael’s.

Her preferred shot of adrenaline –well, she was sucking on it. At times she drank until she vomited, only to drink more. But now Raphael had wandered in and she was going to have to stop. At least for a few minutes.

‘What, Santiago?’

‘Reporting for duty.’

Oh, right. The Lewis boy. She’d forgotten all about him, honestly. Her blood – the little of it that used to belong in the body of the girl beneath her – was pumping wildly in her ears and it became very hard to focus.

‘And?’ she managed.

‘Nothing special. Just … more dumplings.’

What on earth was he talking about? She lifted her head away from the warm neck, a long, bloodied saliva string following, and glowered at Raphael. He stood waiting, unimpressed, with eyes focused on a point right above Camille’s head. His puritan attitude was starting to bother her. Men were such bores. The girl lying beneath her smiled lazily and traced lines on Camille’s arm.

‘Get out,’ she snarled.

She didn’t even check to see if he left.

Raphael stared hard in her direction. His rage less-than-subtly poured off in great, bitter waves.

There was little to be done about his current situation. She was the head of the clan and had loyalty around here. Perhaps the loyalty wavered slightly as she got older and more and more reckless, and sloppy in her cheating of the law.

Raphael went to his room on the second floor after grabbing a bag of icy cold O neg. He continued reading Cortázar, but quickly found his attention to be lacking. After rereading the same opening paragraph of a new chapter for the fifth time, he put the book away and got up.

It was only three a.m. He had a few hours until the sun rose, but no idea what to do with them.

The second living room quarters were located on the first floor, the one Camille hardly ever used since it was not up to her usual standards of ostentatious debauchery with its plain grey walls and the complete absence of silver and gold. 

The piano in the far right corner was mostly left untouched except for the rare occasions Raphael sat down on the stool. He let his fingers glide along the keys and inhaled deeply until he could smell past the paint and varnish. The outer rim was made from hardwood, beech, as was most of the rest frame. A bit of maple.

He pressed down a key and it reverberated shrilly in the room. The instrument was out of tune and he’d have to get it fixed one of these days.

Habibi, the Dumort cat, sneaked into the room and waited before him with beseeching eyes. He ignored her. 

His mind drifted to Lewis. 

Why was Camille so insistent on a detailed account of his whereabouts? _Usually_ , he thought. Tonight she was so absorbed in that mundane girl, she was high as a kite. 

Raphael almost wished Lewis had done something exciting, and then maybe he could have the satisfaction of lying about it to his volatile clan leader, just to spite her. But no. Once more he’d had the pleasure of witnessing Lewis eat a repulsive amount of dumplings.

He sighed and went over to windows, opening the blinds and chasing the dulled sensation of feeling fresh air in your lungs. If only Lily, his best friend, were here then he wouldn’t be so absolutely bored. But she was out of town for the week. 

Opposite the hotel, night shop owner Dave sold another bottle of vodka to the drunkard Raphael recognized as the elderly woman permanently staked out in one of the side alleys nearby the metro station. A cardboard box and a collection of blankets and plastic bags were her home. She’d once gripped his arm with alarming strength while recounting the details of her son’s ingenuity and his multiple college degrees after he’d brought her a warm coffee. He watched her amble along the street. 

The restlessness slowly ebbed away with every breath he took. Breathing wasn’t necessary, but it still felt pleasant, even if it was just a dull echo of what he remembered it to feel like, real _fresh_ air.

He decided to drop the self-pity and made his way to his bedroom where he undressed and put on loose pants and a thin shirt. He descended the stairs, confirmed Camille was still were he’d left her and went out running, pushing himself harder and harder, running without a break for miles. He felt good.

 

 —

 

 _Boredom (N)_  /  a state of tediousness, often accompanied by weariness or frustration

 _Used in a sentence_ /“Boredom is a vital problem for the moralist, since half the sins of mankind are caused by the fear of it” (Bertrand Russell, _The Conquest of Happiness_ ).

 _Synonyms of boredom_ / sameness · ennui · tedium · blahs · restlessness · dullness

  

— 

 

Due to his babysitting duties, Raphael was unable to enjoy ‘breakfast’ with the rest of his clan at seven p.m. It was the middle of fall and if he covered himself up with a hood or hat, he could already go outside around six thirty. Of course Camille suggested he do just that. 

At this very moment Raphael was stationed on the corner of Lewis’ apartment building, contemplating whether it was truly worth wasting another evening – hell, an _entire night_ – over this gluttonous, badly dressed mundane. The small park across Lewis’ building was empty. 

Yet again, it was pouring, and at this rate, his umbrella wouldn’t survive autumn.

Just as he scuffled a cigarette butt into the gutter with his expensive leather shoes he should not have worn, an old yellow Volvo veered around the corner and came to a screeching halt in front of Lewis’ building. 

Raphael jumped back to avoid the splash of water flying his way and cursed the driver.

The driver stepped out of the vehicle and turned out to be none other than the girl Camille was obsessed with, the red-haired Shadowhunter. Not that Raphael knew this, however. He thought she was just one of many. But at least he had instantly recognized her angel blood, and it was truly the first remarkable thing he would be able to report to Camille: Lewis had a Shadowhunter friend.

Lewis stepped out of the car as well, and the two of them went into the building while yammering on about a comic book in ‘mint condition’ they ‘absolutely had to have’, and, frankly, Raphael was bored already. 

He took out a bag of blood-infused twizzlers, courtesy of the cook at Dumort, Eduardo Da Pina, who had made a special batch just for Raphael yesterday, and angrily chewed on the candy.

What a grand waste of time. 

The girl and Lewis spent the rest of the evening discussing the merits of waterproofed superhero costumes and the possible life-saving aspect of said suits and –good Lord. 

If only he’d brought his book. In fact, he’d probably better bring it along in the future. A NYPD car had driven past him, a skinny Indonesian cop with dark brown eyes watching him warily. A random man sitting on a bench eating candy at eleven o’clock in the evening in a slightly dodgy neighbourhood. Sure. 

During the rest of the evening, the only remotely interesting thing that happened was a passer-by asking if he had a light. He did, but asked for a cigarette in return.

Lewis and the girl fell asleep around two in the morning, chatting the entire goddamn time, and Raphael had never been so relieved to have some peace and quiet. 

He only returned to Dumort after taking a long walk to get rid of the numb feeling in his legs and going into the store to say hello to Dave. Camille asked him the same question, ‘What Santiago?’ and he plainly answered that Lewis was accompanied by a red-haired female Shadowhunter whose name was Clary.

Camille straightened slightly out of her intoxicated haze and demanded further details, to which he could only reply the two of them shared a disturbing love for the comic book world. Camille’s mundane was sleeping on one of the golden couches, and the queen herself looked close to falling asleep as well. Her eyelids kept fluttering shut, and the sight was slovenly. _Get a grip_ , Raphael thought.

‘— and nothing more, Camille.’

At least now he knew she was interested in that girl. But why?

Raphael hunted down some more twizzlers and sat down in the kitchen with Eduardo, who, appalling conversationalist as he was, at least proved to be more entertaining than either Lewis or Camille. Raphael followed Eduardo’s movement in the kitchen, watching him attempt a filet mignon, blood-style.

 

— 

 

Clary woke up on the floor of Simon’s bedroom severely hungover and thirsty.

The small TV was still on, displaying the menu of _Batman Returns_. She quickly shut it off and groaned at the gravity change as she sat up.

‘Simon.’

Grunt.

‘Simon.’

‘Whu.’

‘Coffee. Now. And breakfast. Maybe.’ She clutched her stomach and rethought breakfast. And again. ‘No, definitely breakfast. Greasy bacon and a few eggs. What do you say?’

She turned around to find Simon pretzeled in his soft, cushy bed, the bastard. Simon mumbled a _yes_. ‘I … okay. Five more minutes.’

‘Make it fifteen,’ she groaned as her stomach roiled suddenly. ‘Twenty.’

‘Okay.’

The events of the past few days played on repeat in her mind. Her mother was missing, she was some bizarre angel thing, and something about a cup. Clary had decided not to tell Simon any of it, except for her mother missing. She’d ‘gone to the police’ with him, actually Luke, who was in on the whole, _let’s keep Simon safe and out of this._ She stood by her decision.

Not that it wasn’t hard. Missed called, unexplained absences, a few bruises. Simon was getting worried. Which was why a night in getting hammered was exactly what the both of them needed at the moment.

On the kitchen counter lay her phone, probably buzzing and beeping like crazy, but she needed a break.

Forty minutes, three glasses of water and an aspirin each later, the two of them wobbled out of Simon’s building, heading for the diner a few blocks away, _The Waffle Emporium_.

Halfway through his second plate of scrambled eggs sans bacon, Simon put his fork down resolutely. ‘Hey.’

‘Yeah.’ Clary was gulping down her food.

‘I kinda… Well, look, this is gonna sound paranoid, especially with my track record,’ Simon had always been a bit paranoid, not to mention a hypochondriac and a fatalist, ‘but I kinda get the feeling I’m being, uhm, watched or something? Like, followed? I dunno.’

Clary stopped eating. ‘What?’

He pushed his glasses up and shrugged his shoulders almost violently. ‘I’m probably just imagining things, I mean, there’s no reason somebody would stalk me, let’s be real here.’

She nodded in companionship. 

‘Exactly,’ he declared with a wave of his hands, but sobered up. ‘But sometimes when I’m out I get this feeling there’s someone constantly, like, walking behind me? It is … unsettling.’ 

In light of recent events, Clary couldn’t ignore this. But then again, he had always been jittery and spazzy, paranoid and worried. She couldn’t even begin to count the number of times he’d come up with government conspiracy theories or had freaked out about a little spot on his skin. Besides, she hadn’t told anyone, no Shadowhunter or downworlder, apart from Luke, who knew anyways, that Simon was part of her life. 

‘I’m sure you’re just imagining things.’ 

‘See, I’d be sure too, normally,’ Simon said, shoving a piece of toast in his mouth. ‘But still. It’s weird. I’m keeping an eye out for any creepers.’

‘You do that,’ she laughed weakly. 

Her phone buzzed again. Izzy was wondering where the hell she was. Clary put the cell on mute and returned to Simon with a bright smile. ‘More coffee?’ 

‘Yes, please.’

She signalled for the waitress, a woman in her fifties with bags the size of Texas under her eyes, who refilled both their cups with a mumbled _here y‘go_.

‘God,’ Simon commiserated. ‘She looks even worse than we do. And we look real crappy.’

Clary agreed. ‘Poor woman. Let’s leave her a big tip this time.’ 

‘Uh-huh.’ 

 

—

  

 _Day 23357_

_Subject remains dullard. Spent evening strumming guitar without forming cohesive sound. Is his life as tepid as mine? Have yet again missed breakfast. Camille drunk as ever._

 

 


	2. Daydreamin’, I fell asleep amidst the towers

Lily Chen returned from her yearly trip to Asia. This time she’d chosen Bangkok. Hot and hot. And hot.

When she arrived at Dumort the sun was just beginning to rise. She didn’t particularly feel rejoiced to be back. The clan was a mess and she hated Camille with a fiery passion. Camille posed a threat to the safety of the clan and was the most selfish being Lily had ever met. 

Now, true, Lily wasn’t that clean, either. She enjoyed a good dose of fresh mundane blood rather than the lifeless shit packed up in those medical baggies, but she knew when to stop. And more importantly, Lily covered up her tracks. Used _encanto_ like a good little vampire to make the humans forget, and even sought out humans who weren’t opposed to the idea of a vamp sticking their fangs in their necks. A win-win situation, that was how she viewed it. A practical solution.

Camille, though, didn’t give a lick about rules or consequences. Hell, she even dabbled with Shadowhunter blood from time to time, and Lily stayed the fuck away from that toxic shit. It felt like heaven, but the violent tremors and skin-crawling panic that came afterwards were not worth it. 

Lily wasn’t too popular amongst the vampires of the clan. Too moody and self-assured for most of them. Maybe they disliked her because she was a strong woman. Maybe because she didn’t care beyond the general safety of the clan. She didn’t have a soft bone in her body. The only allies she had were Stan, kind and seeming not to mind Lily’s opposite nature, and Raphael, who despite his strict views, shared her moodiness and unapologetic attitude. His sense of responsibility had rubbed off on her, though she didn’t like to dwell on this fact. 

She dumped her duffel bag and suitcase in her bedroom and slammed the door shut, going to look for Raphael.

She found him in the living room on the first floor, glaring at a book and obviously not reading a single word.

‘Hey.’ 

He jumped and smiled when he saw who had walked in. ‘Lily. You’re back.’

‘Just arrived. It’s dead in here. Everybody asleep?’

‘Pandemonium. Should be back soon.’ He glanced out the open window where the sky had turned an eerie shade of greyish blue. ‘How was your trip?’

‘Good.’ She sat down on the couch across from Raphael. Nodding at the book, she asked, ‘you don’t like it?’

He sighed and shut the book. ‘No, it’s not that. I can’t concentrate.’ 

‘Let me guess. Camille.’ 

‘What else.’ 

Stan came in and kissed Lily hard on the mouth. ‘You didn’t tell me you were back,’ he mumbled, subdued and a touch prickly. 

‘Just arrived,’ she repeated. Their fingers tangled briefly and he sank down into the couch next to her. ‘So what has she done this time?’ 

Raphael looked up from where he’d been staring at their intertwined hands. ‘The same damn thing. That Lewis mundane.’ 

‘Jesus. And she still hasn’t told you why you gotta follow this guy?’ 

‘No.’ 

Lily shook her head. ‘Maybe she’s going demented. Or insane.’ Stan clamped his lips shut to stop his laughter. He felt loyal to a leader that didn’t give a shit about him, and it pissed Lily off. 

‘Wouldn’t that be something,’ Raphael smirked. He threw the book on the coffee table. ‘It’s starting to grate on my nerves. Not the mention he’s boring.’

Raphael then gave a list of reasons why Lewis was a drag. 

Stan found her fingers again and pressed against Lily’s hand insistently. ‘You tired from the trip?’ 

 _No,_ she was about to answer, before she realized Stan was trying to be subtle. ‘Yeah.’ She turned to Raphael, ‘I’ll see you tomorrow,’ she said. 

‘If Lewis goes to bed at ten, maybe. Fat chance. I’m starting to think he wouldn’t be a bad vampire. Camille would have my head.’ 

She huffed out a laugh and left the room after saying goodnight. Stan trailed behind her. She irritably grabbed his arm and guided him to her room.  

 

—

  

_Day 23360_

_Lily is back._

_His scent has something cavity-inducing to it, tooth-rotting, like burnt sugar, something I haven’t tasted in a long time. Have still not figured out his real connection to the shadowhunters, save for the redhead. They never speak of shadowhunter affairs. So far I’ve gathered her mother, Jocelyn, is missing, little else._

  

_—_

  

The Dumort cat, Habibi, not perturbed by the living dead taking care of her, padded over to the lump under the covers without making a sound. She ruled in this household, even these twofooters without heartbeats didn’t have the stealth she possessed. 

Habibi was pleased. The door to Raphael’s room had been left open, and it usually never was! 

This twofooter usually woke in a lousy mood and went to bed in a lousy mood, and had no love for her, but his ear scratches were amongst the best of the whole hotel. 

Content, she purred against the neck of the lump and accidentally flicked her tail in his face. 

He let out a surprised ‘Ah!’ and jerked his whole body. 

She yowled as his arm hit her hind legs and sped off under the chair next to his desk, hissing quietly. Always so damn crabby! 

Habibi regaled him with her most magnificent little sashay across the room while holding eye contact, hoping to impress him with her feline poise. 

However, before she even had the chance to jump onto the bed to demand more attention, he was on his feet and picked her up one-handed.

She didn’t understand the garble of Spanish that came out of his mouth, but could make out he was displeased. After giving her a few soft scratches across her back en ears, he unceremoniously dumped her on the floor right outside his door. 

The next morning, she clawed the material loose of his sitting chair and left it in tatters across the room.

 

—

  

Goddamnit. 

Now even their cat didn’t want Raphael to catch any sleep. One of the jokesters in Dumort had probably opened his door again halfway through the night. He knew he should have never complained out loud about Habibi sneaking into his room. The clan thought they were funny. 

He looked at the clock, 6:08, and resigned himself to another day of Lewis-watching. 

Dressing quickly and snatching another batch of twizzlers after downing an O neg bag, he was out of Dumort by 6:28, impeccably dressed and with a frown on his face. 

Tonight, Lewis felt determined to enjoy the evening despite being bailed on by his redhead again, it seemed. He’d put some effort into his appearance. Hair combed and styled. Loose jacket and classic black jeans. 

Raphael’s unease grew when he followed Lewis all the way to Pandemonium, a famous nightclub owned by his friend, notorious downworlder Magnus Bane. What on earth was Lewis doing here? 

While Lewis and a friend of his, Maureen something, stood in the middle of the waiting line, Lewis shuffling to and fro on his yellow All Stars, the bouncer spotted Raphael all the way in the back and nodded him over. ‘Rapha!’ 

‘Shit,’ he cursed quietly.

A few people groused about him cheating his way to the front and getting inside free of charge. _Vamp trash_. _This is outrageous! We’ve been waiting for half an hour!_  

His palms were sweating and he felt uncomfortably aware of Lewis’ eyes on him. He resolutely avoided any indication of recognition. Seventy years of vampirism had taught him to learn the game, damn it, and Raphael Santiago appeared cool as ice while making his way to the front of the line. 

‘Thank you,’ he said to Yannic, the bouncer he’d known for more than a decade. 

Yannic smiled and held open the door for him. ‘Magnus ain’t here tonight, I think. And if he is, he’ll be stuck to that tall’un all evenin’.’ 

‘Tall one?’

God, he had been so wrapped up in his own head, he’d been missing everything apparently. Magnus was dating someone? Thank the heavens Camille was too potted to properly assess his poor detective skills. 

‘Yeah. Alex, or somethin’. The Shadowhunter. Tall as a tree, that one.’ 

Raphael huffed. Alec Lightwood? ‘You’re kidding.’ 

‘Nope.’ Yannic popped his _p._ ‘Strange sight.’ 

‘Now that I believe.’ 

‘But off with you. Have fun.’ Yannic pushed him inside with a little too much force. Raphael glared at him before the door fell closed. 

It took more than half an hour before Lewis entered Pandemonium. Raphael had not spotted Magnus or any of the clan and the boredom had driven him to his third Bloody Mary. 

Alcohol infused and slightly lightheaded, he blamed his inebriated state for coming to the following conclusion and obviously wavering morals: 

Simon Lewis was attractive. 

Raphael supposed he spent more time listening to Lewis than actually looking directly at him, but the way he was dancing – flailing and failing, truly, looking like a newborn giraffe in dire need of some direction – somehow translated into Lewis being captivating. And it didn’t take a fool to realize why. He didn’t give a damn about what people thought of him. The joy he experienced from moving in a sea of anonymous bodies, without another person to lean on, without caring who saw him, was visible to the naked eye. It was pleasing to watch. 

As if having spoken aloud, sound carrying over the loud bass of a techno monstrosity he’d rather not hear, Lewis suddenly lifted his head and fixed his gaze on Raphael.

A solid second stretched out, defying the brevity of that second— 

Before Lewis realized he’d crashed into a girl who rained hell on him, yelling obscenities while clamping her hand over a bleeding nose. 

By the time Lewis scanned the bar for the guy who’d been staring at him, he was long gone. 

 

—

  

 _Thrill –ed_ / _-ing_ / _-s_ / a sudden sensation eliciting responses such as pleasure, excitement or fear / a tremble caused by fear or shock 

 _Used in a sentence_ / “To torment and tantalize oneself with hopes of possible fortune is so sweet, so thrilling!” (Anton Chekhov, _The Lottery Ticket_ ).

 _Synonyms of thrill_ / frisson · shiver · tingle · kick · tickle · wow · rush

 

—

  

Out of breath from dancing, Simon raced out the door and checked every single person standing outside Pandemonium. He ran further out of the alley and onto the street, but apart from a few swaying drunks, a pair of giggling girls, and a cab driver, it was deserted.

That was _it_!

That man, whoever he’d been, Simon had recognized him. He’d seen him before.

‘Simon!’

He swirled around. Maureen jogged towards him with a concerned expression.

‘Are you all right?’ 

‘Uhm… Yeah. Fine, just needed some air.’ 

‘You look pale.’ She reached for his cheek but he darted away. 

‘I’m fine! A bottle of water and I’ll be up and running.’

Maureen blinked in disappointment. ‘Right.’ 

‘You … wanna go back in?’ 

‘Nah. Clary’s not even here, anyways. Heard anything else from her?’

‘Just that she couldn’t make it.’ Simon took out his phone and checked again.

Clary was obviously going through a tough time, but didn’t give in to Simon’s insistent prodding about her wellbeing. No one had heard anything from Jocelyn. Clary’s phone was always off, she bailed on meet-ups, and when she did show up, she smelled as if she hadn’t showered in a few days. So, yeah, he was worried.

And now Maureen’s eyes were widening in that crazy-alert way they always did when she forgot the conversation they’d had last year, during which Simon explicitly told her he was not interested in more than friendship and could she please back off a little?

And apparently some other dude was following in her literal footsteps, because, yet again, Simon was being stalked. His happy mood officially tanked.

‘Maureen…’

She took another step closer and completely misinterpreted the situation. 

‘I have a headache,’ he blurted out. ‘A bad one. So, I’m gonna …go.’

The entire trip back to his apartment, subway and a ten minute walk, he stayed fidgety and jumped at every noise.

 

—

 

… reproducing any version of a hit available. Whether it be alcohol, blood, drugs, violence, bdsm, joyrides, high stake poker games, Russian roulette, she’d tried it all and was always eager for more.

Camille returned to consciousness.

The scent of blood cloyed in her nose. She wiped a thick smear of crusty blood off her chin and put it to her mouth. She was ravenous.

The only light in the room came from lit candles. She shied away from the light and groaned as she sat up. Only then did she vaguely realize she wasn’t alone in the room. A couple other vamps were around as well as half a dozen mundanes, most of them asleep. 

Camille squinted her eyes at the shapes in the room but they refused to become clear. Bouts of nausea and dizziness kept her immobile for a few minutes. Her body felt numb, but agitated, like beetles crawling up and down her legs and chest. She massaged her temples and grappled for the nearest mundane arm, immediately digging in her fangs. 

At once the itch in her throat soothed, and her cold, hard body became a little warmer and a little softer.

Right before falling asleep with her fangs still embedded in human skin, her eyes flickered to the open doorway, catching on a figure outlined by the harsh lights from the hallway.

 

—

 

The bench right outside Lewis’ apartment building was rather well-acquainted with Raphael’s backside. The night had an orange glow to it coming from the lanterns, and a sky that was supposed to be pitch black was instead overcast with grey clouds. The grass and the pavement were still damp from a storm earlier in the day.

Raphael sucked on a twizzler, deep in thought. It was well past one a.m. He hadn’t checked on Lewis in a while, and was completely tethered to his wandering mind, completely out of tune with reality.

Bloody Camille. Ravenous Camille. Camille, Queen of the clan, junked-up and strung out. Sharp, kohl-eyed and deadly and ancient, but too narcotized to recognize a threat as Raphael stood in the doorway of the living room with the perfect opportunity of murdering the clan leader. Dictator.

‘EXCUSE ME.’ 

Raphael jumped out of his skin and grew out his claws, ready for an attack. 

Simon Lewis stood before him in his pyjamas, holding a bat in the air. He wore a shirt with a faded Chewbacca on it and plain black sweats.

Raphael relaxed his shoulders and prepared to use his encanto. 

‘Are you deaf? I’ve said ‘hey’ twice.’ Lewis ground out. ‘Why are you _everywhere_? Are you stalking me?’ 

Raphael sized him up and Lewis took a step back. ‘Now why would I stalk _you_?’ He bit off a piece of twizzler for good measure. He could always encanto if the need arose. But he was bored and in need of some diversion before Camille ate away his thoughts.

‘I recognize you, you know. I’ve seen you before.’ The bat was wobbling a little as he spoke. 

‘Are you perhaps in need of glasses?’ 

‘I wear glasses. They’re in my— never mind. You were at the club the other day.’ 

Raphael nodded. ‘Good memory.’ 

‘You’d have a good memory too if some random dude showed up wherever you went.’ 

And damn it. Raphael had _not_ been paying enough attention. Why couldn’t he come up with a good lie? 

‘See? You’re not even denying it.’

‘Maybe you fascinate me.’ 

‘But … We’ve never even met. Have we met?’ Lewis pointed the bat at him. 

‘No.’

‘Then how do you even know where I live?’ 

‘I live a few blocks away.’ At least he was being honest. ‘Saw you talking to Dave one day.’ Mostly. 

‘Dave? Dave from the deli? Deli Dave with the moustache?’

‘That’s the one.’ 

‘And you just decided to follow me home like a creep.’ Lewis frowned and stuffed one hand in the pocket of his sweats. It was cold, and his breath blew little white clouds in the air. 

Raphael made sure to keep his face passably uninterested as to not alarm Lewis. 

‘I was bored. Insomnia keeps me up at night. I didn’t follow you, but you happen to live right next to one of the few park in this neighbourhood. I come here to read sometimes when I can’t sleep.’ Raphael pointed to the book lying next to him. _De civitate Dei._ ‘And the rain’s finally let up.’ 

‘Tell me about it. Shit weather,’ Lewis agreed with a sigh, before remembering he was chatting with a potential stalker. The bat hovered in the air for a few seconds more before Lewis leaned the barrel on the ground. ‘What are you reading?’ 

‘You wouldn’t like it.’ 

‘How would you know?’ he challenged. 

‘It’s an apologetic text about Christian philosophy.’ 

‘And you assume I wouldn’t like it because of this? That’s stupid.’ Lewis took the golden pendant from around his neck and held it up. A star of David. 

Raphael smirked. ‘No, because of that.’ He pointed at Chewbacca.

‘A person can have more than one interest, you know.’ 

‘All right. Are you interested in Christian philosophy or faith?’ 

‘Well, no. But my point stands.’ 

Raphael shook his head at the turn of events and closed his eyes for a brief second. In his distraction, Lewis had sat down next to him and was taking a twizzler out of the packet lying next to the book. 

‘’S this cherry? Or strawberry or—,’ he sniffed and frowned. 

Before Raphael could register what Lewis was doing, he’d put the twizzler in his mouth and bit off a piece. 

‘ _Oh my god_ ,’ he spluttered.

Raphael wrenched away the candy.

‘I…’ he stalled while Lewis spit a glob of red out on the pavement, turning to him with wide eyes.

‘What is _in_ this? It tastes like –like metal or something.’ 

‘My friend’s a cook. He was … experimenting.’ 

Raphael hastily shoved the packet in his jacket. 

Lewis’ eyes were bugging out. ‘Am I going to get sick? Tell your friend that this is terrible. Zero out of ten, would not try again. I figured it’d be a good compensation for the whole stalking thing, but if this is what you have to offer, god, no.’ 

‘No, you won’t get ill.’ Raphael rolled his eyes and felt childish for doing so. 

‘Either way,’ he flicked his tongue along his teeth with a scowl, ‘what’s your name? I figured it’s not unimportant to know your stalker’s name.’ 

‘I’m not a stalker.’

‘Says you. And Maureen,’ he mumbled under his breath. 

‘Who’s Maureen?’ 

‘Huh?’ 

‘Maureen?’

Lewis shook his head. ‘A girl who actually stalked me. It was weird.’ 

 _Weird_ wasn’t exactly the term he’d use the feeling of sensing someone’s eyes on you at all times. 

‘But my name’s Simon.’ 

A sudden wave of drowsiness came over him, and Raphael tried to recall whether he’d taken his medication this morning. Unconsciously, he put a hand to his temple. 

‘Hey, are you okay?’ Lewis was gauging Raphael’s behaviour, unsure if he could trust this stranger. Raphael thought he would be a real fool if he did. 

‘Yes, just a headache.’ A feeling of unease attacked over him out of nowhere and he needed to get away as quickly as possible. 

Picking up his book and standing upright, Raphael bid Simon a quiet goodnight and focused on moving in a straight line despite the light-headedness caused by his sudden motion. 

Lewis called out, ‘Hey! Wait!’ but Raphael walked away at a brisk pace.

 

—

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Who's also sorely disappointed with the evolution of the ships in the show?


	3. Habibi, the Dumort House Cat

Pulse points in the human body:

 

Temporal artery:        Temple

Carotid artery:            Neck

Apical pulse:              Heart

Brachial artery:           Inner elbow

Radial artery:              Wrist

Femoral artery:           Groin

Popliteal artery:         Behind knee

Posterior tibial art.:    Ankle

Pedal artery:               Foot

 

 

—

 

 

Dr. Kay Linden waited for her patient to initiate the conversation.

 

Glancing minutely at the clock on the coffee table between them, she noted that ten minutes had already passed since the start of the session.

 

Her patient always took his time and never allowed himself to be pressured by her inquisitive eyes. At first she thought it was out of stubbornness, but she quickly learned he merely spoke very little and appeared neither apologetic or angered for it. Usually.

 

Now however—

 

‘You missed our last session,’ Dr. Linden prompted a few minutes later.

 

Raphael didn’t flinch or jump at the sound of her voice interrupting his thoughts.

 

‘Unexpected errand. I contacted you in time.’

 

‘Yes, thank you for that. Clan business?’

 

He nodded and simply said, ‘Camille.’ Then he added, ‘She … she’s going off the rails, so to speak. She’s been drinking so much mundane blood there’s practically a pink tint to her cheek these days. Makes her feel alive, I suppose.’

 

‘You’re smiling.’

 

Raphael huffed and schooled his features, then let his lips unfurl back into a smile.

 

‘Are you pleased by this?’

 

‘I’m biding my time.’

 

‘What do you mean?’

 

‘No one at Dumort dares go against her. I understand that. She’s a powerful woman and beautiful, too. Half the time I can’t tell whether they’re more afraid of her, or in awe of her. Dumort was a dump before she became a leader, and no one in New York gave a rat’s ass about us, and they certainly didn’t fear us.’

 

‘And now?’ Dr. Linden asks after some hesitation on Raphael’s part.

 

‘Now … Now all of that’s different. There’s never a lack of blood or money. We’re not shunned anymore, apart from the Shadowhunters of course, _fanáticos_. But in general, our lives are better, and she’s to thank for it. No one dares to go against her. Not even Stan.’

 

‘You’ve mentioned him before.’

 

He nodded. ‘He’s … bedding Lily.’

 

Dr. Linden couldn’t help raising her brows at the old-fashioned term, momentarily forgetting his age. ‘Bedding?’

 

‘Having sex with. The act of coitus. Fucking.’

 

Raphael looked away, at the bookcases on his right. ‘Apologies,’ he said.

 

‘No need. We’ve talked about this.’ Dr. Linden knew Raphael insisted on decorum and he was frustrated each time something slipped through the cracks.

 

‘Raphael, let’s move away from Camille for a second and return to you. Last time you were here we talked about the side effects of the new dosage of your meds. How is that progressing?’

 

The lapels of his jacket were crooked and he straightened them twice before answering. ‘Pretty much the same, if slightly better. There’s still a bit of drowsiness, but I’m sleeping better.’

 

‘Blood lust?’

 

‘Good.’

 

‘No nausea or headaches?’

 

‘No.’

 

‘Libido?’

 

Dr. Linden expected him to say, _the same_ , which meant, rather non-existent, but he paused.

 

‘You seemed bothered by your two friends having a relationship that is sexual in nature.’

 

‘I’m not _bothered_ by it, it’s … I can’t explain it.’

 

‘Try.’

 

‘I’m not familiar with the sensation,’ he settled for.

 

‘Try running me through one of the moments you feel like that. What happens?’

 

Raphael repositioned himself on the couch and his expression radiated misery. Discussing the objective technicalities of bodily symptoms of his anti-depressants was easy for him, but as soon as Dr. Linden dug beyond that and into nuances of his mood and emotions, Raphael struggled to find the words.

 

‘All right.’ His pallor softened as he moved closer to the lamp next to the couch. ‘For example … Lily and I were having a drink late at night after I came back from an errand Camille had me running. Then Stan came in and inserted himself next to her in the middle of our conversation, and I … I mean, I suppose I felt disappointed. Perhaps.’

 

‘Disappointed by Stan’s arrival?’

 

‘No, he’s a— a gentle man, actually. God.’

 

Dr. Linden lifted her brows.

 

‘Never mind. But, I suppose I felt disappointed at Lily.’

 

When he offered nothing further, she asked, ‘What had she done?’

 

‘No, it wasn’t something that she’d done. They … were in tune. He just sat down next to her and she didn’t bat an eyelash. They held hands and he couldn’t stop staring at her. It made me feel uncomfortable. Irritated.’

 

‘To witness their attraction? Or to be excluded from it?’

 

Raphael grimaced. ‘I suppose.’

 

‘To which question?’

 

‘Both.’

 

Dr. Linden considered this for a while and finally asked the question she’d been keeping in her mind during their entire conversation. ‘Do you covet that kind of relationship? Maybe you’re jealous of it?’

 

‘I’ve never wanted that kind of relationship.’

 

She nodded. ‘Nevertheless, everybody seeks out a connection, and especially downworlders. Immortality gets lonely.’

 

‘But I never seek out that kind of connection, the sexual kind. I rarely have.’

 

‘Lily and Stan were not having intercourse right in front of you, though. They were only holding hands and being in each other’s presence.’

 

Raphael blew out a breath and huffed. He sank further into the cushions and stayed silent. He stared into nothing with a contemplative mien for a very long time.

 

There were only a few minutes left. Before finishing the session, Dr. Linden asked, ‘What’s on your mind right now?’

 

He didn’t shift his position on the couch and chose to tell the as honestly as he was capable.

 

‘I don’t know.’

 

 

—

 

 

As soon as Raphael left his psychiatrist’s office, he lit a cigarette and let out a shaky sigh. The insides of his lungs were shrivelling like raisins, not that it mattered much.

 

 _Que bonito lío_.

 

 

—

 

 

At home, Habibi sniffed around his legs and bunched up against them, pushing her head against his foot insistently until he picked her up. Her bowl with water got filled. A can of food was emptied into a plastic Tupperware.

 

She filled her belly and hunted down her twofooter. She found him sitting quietly at the piano and staring at the wall. He picked her up absently and deposited her on the piano. The keys pressed down and produced a loud, jarring noise in the relative silence of Dumort.

 

 

—

 

 

 _Habibi (N, Arabic)_ / trans. ‘my beloved’, a term of endearment that can be used either romantically or between friends

 

 _Used in a sentence_ / “Cannot remember where Habibi came from. She has nestled her way into Dumort and stubbornly refuses to leave.” (from the notebooks of Raphael Santiago, _Day 22149_ )

 

 _Synonyms of habibi_ / love · babe · friend · bro

 

—

 

‘You not hungry, or something?’

 

Shan Dong’s, as always, wasn’t crowded at this time of night. Lewis pierced a dumpling with his chopstick, drenched it in sauce, and ate it whole. The sauce smelled of black beans and maple syrup.

 

‘There’s sauce running down your chin,’ Raphael said.

 

‘What? –oh!’ He wiped his napkin across his face and gave a sheepish grin before eating another dumpling and washing it down with a swallow of beer. Raphael couldn’t keep the grimace of his face. Apart from the guilty pleasure of chewy, plastic twizzlers and all the junk they contain, Raphael didn’t touch human food unless it was a delicacy and worth his while.

 

Two-day-old steamed dumplings and a bottle of Tsingtao did not make the list.

 

‘You’re not hungry?’ Lewis repeated.

 

‘I already ate.’

 

‘You sure you don’t want to taste?’

 

Lewis waved a chopstick in the air and a small piece of carrot flew into the air, smacking into Raphael’s suit.

 

 _Oh, whoops_ , was all the mundane said, offering his dirty napkin. Apparently he didn’t realize the jacket was Armani and probably worth more than Lewis’ entire wardrobe.

 

Raphael stared him down, wondering how the hell he had ended up at Shan Dong’s at half past one in the morning, sitting across from Simon Lewis, whom with he was _not_ supposed to be interacting. The burst of anxiety he’d experienced the first time he and Lewis had spoken never returned.

 

Raphael looked away and occupied himself with studying the waiter, tall and lanky, idling along the counter and obviously wishing for his shift to end. The waiter glanced at the clock every few minutes.

 

Something was drawing him in, but for the unlife of him, he couldn’t put his finger on it.

 

‘Stop staring at me,’ Raphael told him.

 

Lewis quickly averted his eyes and muttered, ‘Sorry’, embarrassed at being caught. It wasn’t the first time. Maybe that was why Raphael stuck around longer than was necessary. Maybe he revelled in the attention. Maybe he was an idiot.

 

‘I just don’t understand it,’ Lewis said.

 

‘What?’

 

‘Why are you here?’

 

Raphael rolled his eyes. ‘We’ve had this conversation before. Multiple times. Are you suffering from short term memory loss?’

 

‘Hilarious. But … it’s not that I don’t believe you have insomnia, I mean,’ he said, flapping his hands around, ‘you do look real tired all the time and – ’

 

‘Thank you.’

 

‘ – and half the time you seem to be zoning out and not hear a thing I say,’

 

‘ – half the time you’re babbling and it annoys me.’

 

‘ – okay, wow. Thank _you_ , palefaced crab. But seriously. Don’t you have anything better to do than hang out here?’ His eyes darted between the mostly empty plate before him and Raphael’s face.

 

‘Lewis,’ Raphael started. ‘How m—,’

 

‘Simon.’

 

He sighed and settled back into the booth. ‘Simon, I’ll choose to spend my time however I wish. Stop questioning it, because you’re starting to irritate me.’

 

The answer didn’t appease him. ‘See, that kinda thing right there is why I ask the question in the first place.’

 

Raphael shrugged. ‘I’m not here to soothe your worries, Simon. My turn to ask a question. You keep wondering why I spend my time as I do, but why are _you_ still here?’

 

Lewis wiggled in his seat. He was caught in his own trap and Raphael smirked.

 

‘Th-this is too much drama for the middle of the night,’ Lewis stuttered.

 

Nighttime would always be the only time Raphael was around, anyways.

 

‘Finish your food. I want to go for a walk.’ Raphael laid his eyes on him fixedly and didn’t waver.

 

‘Okay,’ Lewis breathed.

 

 

—

 

 

Habibi was growing very angry.

 

Her favourite twofooter still hadn’t returned to Dumort, and it was almost sunrise! She wasn’t foolish. These twofooters weren’t completely natural. She could hear it, smell it, and feel it.

 

Meowing in displeasure, she stalked down the stairs and crept out of the building through the cat flap in the kitchen.

 

She prowled along the street and tried to catch his scent in the windy night. It was useless, so she settled for searching the whole neighbourhood.

 

When she found him, she turned furious. How dare his attention be given so freely to someone else! He pinned a human against a brick wall and seemed to do that thing twofooters and humans were so fond of doing when they were alone.

 

Terrible!

 

Habibi sprang forward, meowed loudly, and sunk her teeth into the stranger that was keeping her favourite twofooter away from home. The human yelled out in surprise.

 

Beastly creature!

 

Raphael picked her up and patted her head, but then, to her dismay, shooed her off.

 

 

—

 

 

Simon felt ridiculously proud at the sight of the sleeping man in his bed. Tempted as he was to touch him, Simon kept his hands to himself and moved as little as possible in order not to wake him. It was four thirty six in the morning.

 

He wasn’t deluding himself into thinking he was the cure to insomnia, but still!

 

Raphael had been able to rest for a few hours. Maybe he got so bored by Simon’s running commentary about yet another comic book turned to life on television screen. Maybe he was just tired. But either way, he was sleeping, and Simon was going to take credit for it.

 

By the time Simon had gone into his cramped little kitchen to drink some water and eat leftovers take-out noodles, then had come back into his bedroom, Raphael was rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

 

‘I told you to wake me up if I fell asleep.’

 

Simon shrugged and smiled.

 

Raphael groused and tried to smooth out the wrinkles of his dress shirt.

 

In terms of harmony, Raphael disrupted the feng shui of his bedroom. He was the only clean and cold thing in this space. But Simon didn’t care too much about it.

 

Simon bounced on the bed, jostling Raphael in the process, who gave him an exasperated glare for his efforts.

 

They never had sex. Raphael didn’t care for it.

 

They did, however, make out like teenagers who’d only just discovered kissing could be thrilling, not just wet and sloppy. Simon had certainly never kissed anyone _quite_ so enthusiastically and had never been kissed by someone with _quite_ the fixation for his throat and neck –or his jaw, the soft spot right below his ear, the inside of his wrist and elbow, the dip dividing his chest in two, or any of the dozens of places Raphael chose to inspect very closely with his lips.

 

It left him lightheaded and very happy, despite the fact that Raphael always left before morning.

 

 

—

 

 

Raphael made a point of it never to prepare for his therapy sessions, never to have a script ready of things he may wish to say. It felt forced and contra-intuitive. Instead, he would let his mind wander during their appointments and eventually it would take him to where he needed to be.

 

Now he found himself doing the exact opposite, puzzling over his recent unfamiliar behaviour and trying to put into words what he would say to Dr. Linden to fathom what on earth went on his mind when he was kissing Simon Lewis.

 

The experience felt alien, bizarre, uncomfortable, but Raphael got dragged into it with the eagerness and curiosity of discovering a new passion that previously was not even a blip on your radar.

 

 

—

 

 

A few weeks after Lily had returned from her trip, she noticed an odd and faintly warm scent coming from Raphael. Something sweet.

 

One night, she spotted him rubbing absentmindedly against the edges of a plain, faded black shirt that she hadn’t seen before, looking relaxed and content.

 

Instead of interrupting his daydreaming –fantasizing, let’s be real, she left the room with a satisfied grin on her face.

 

She passed Camille’s bedroom and heard whimpers. Shaking her head, she walked on.

 

—

 

 

Camille was out of it, but amidst the haze of vicious, sweaty trembling and vivid hallucinations of withdrawal, the dozens of paranoid thoughts she knew she couldn’t trust, one thought returned with insistence. In the end, tired to the bone but slightly more clearheaded, it still remained embedded in her mind, and it convinced her. The thought was the following: that smells far too be sweat to be anything other than human.

**Author's Note:**

> In my mind, Raphael’s Day entries are in Spanish, but I didn’t want to butcher the text with Google Translate Horror. Usually i manage to get it somewhat right, but figured it wasn't worth the risk this time.
> 
> No beta, so let me know if you spot grammar errors, please!


End file.
